


One Night

by wook77



Category: Four Brothers (2005)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wook77/pseuds/wook77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night, a guy walks into a bar. One night, he gets what he's wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is canon compliant. Please bear that in mind. Originally written in 2007 and posted [here](http://wook77.livejournal.com/134652.html).

Jack likes this sort of area. It's not that he doesn't like the glossy high tech areas of most of the cities the Spares travel to when they're playing. It's more that he likes the history in the old sections, the ones with the cobblestones and brownstones that look like they're smiling down on everyone on the streets. That's a bit more whimsical than he lets himself get most days, which is why he normally frequents the high gloss and shiny areas more often.

As he walks, the lights from the shops - the ladies' dress shops showing impossibly skinny mannequins in dresses that cost more than he made in a year while pottery and dishes sit arranged in a window with too-bright light shining down on them – illuminate the street. He feels a bit awkward and out of place as he doesn't really see anyone else dressed like him. Then again, there isn't really anyone out on the streets at this hour of the night. Then again, the third, there really isn't anyone else like him out there in the world.

That's what Evelyn always says. She would tell him that he was unique and beautiful. He's finally started to believe it. It doesn't matter that he doesn't have much money, not to those that care. Hell, they've never had much money and they were always alright. 

Without thinking, he reaches a hand over and scratches the back of his arm. He barely bites back the shriek of pain when he remembers the fresh tattoo etched into his skin. If Bobby were here, he'd be mocking the cut off girlish noise but Bobby isn't here and, more importantly, hasn't been here for years. 

They still talk, monthly or bi-monthly or, lately, every four or so months. The phone calls are weird and awkward but at least they're talking. Bobby isn't talking to Jerry and Jack doesn't know why. He also doesn't ask why. That's one lesson he doesn't need to be taught twice. Bobby's life is private and Jack isn't to ask about things that don't involve him.

Doesn't stop Jack from wanting to know, however. Jack wants to know where Bobby is, if he's in jail _again_ or if he's finally going straight. Jack wants to know if Bobby is going to come to the show tomorrow night. Philly and New York are only a few hours away from each other, after all. It'd be an easy drive for Bobby to come down and catch the show. 

Jack needs to know if Bobby is going to be bringing a date.

Cursing himself for his stupid infatuation and obsession with Bobby and his life, Jack kicks a loose rock. It skitters across the sidewalk until it hits the side of a car. The _ping_ echoes in the quiet. There's no alarm, though, so Jack keeps walking, heading back to the poorer neighborhood hiding behind all this glitz and glamour. The band's staying in a cheap motel back there and, by now, his bandmates should be drunk off their asses and in bed so he should be able to finally fall asleep. 

His shoulders hunch while his hands burrow deep into the pockets of his hoodie as the wind picks up. A tiny leaflet, pink and crumpled, dances through the air in front of him and he reaches out a hand to grab it. He misses but that's alright, he's still entertained by the way it continues down the street.

~~**~~

It's ten minutes until they're due to start getting their shit on stage. The other band's singing their last song and the rest of the guys are all tuning guitars or drumming their sticks in the air. Jack's sneaking peeks to see if he can spot Bobby. The crowd is thick at the front of the stage and Bobby's either lost in it or not there.

Applause sounds and the other band starts packing up their instruments. It's a confusing dance up there, guys bumping into each other as they try to break down and set up all at the same time. Between the tangling cords and the changing lights – blue to red to green and back to blue – there're safety hazards all over but Jack keeps his feet.

Finally, they're ready to start and the crowd is watching. Jack grins and they start playing. Jack pretends that Bobby is out in the audience, that he's listening and approving so he puts on a show, writhing in time to the lyrics. The crowd responds, jumping to the beat and shouting lyrics during the chorus. 

It's their best show, everyone's saying it afterwards. They were _on_ and the band starts dreaming about getting signed just from this show alone. Euphoria is running high and Jack thinks that no one is going to use tonight because the buzz from the show is more than enough. 

The rest of the band is on their way to the bar when an arm wraps around his neck, trapping him against a hard body. Jack wants to panic but he holds still and then a laugh breaks through the sound of his own pulse racing. 

"Cracker Jack, that was a hell of a fucking show," is said into his ear. Jack turns in response, hugging tight. Bobby had seen the show, he'd been there the whole time and Jack's euphoria goes even higher than he'd thought possible. It probably helps that his nose is pressed into Bobby's neck and he's breathing in the scent he'd missed, Old Spice and security.

"You alright, fairy?" There isn't a bite to the name so Jack doesn't get pissed about it. He just cuffs the side of Bobby's head before letting go. 

"I'm just glad you made it. Thanks, Bobby." Jack feels shy, suddenly, like he isn't sure if Bobby is going to take that to mean what he thinks he might mean by it or not. 

"Come on, kid, let's get a beer." Bobby slings an arm around Jack's shoulders.

The weight of that arm feels good. When they get to the bar with the rest of the band, Jack's quick to introduce Bobby to the rest though he doesn't mention that Bobby's his brother. The group moves to a table while another band takes the stage. The whole thing is too loud to be able to hear anyone and Jack wants to go back to the hotel or go out for some food or anywhere where he can catch up with Bobby. 

"Do you want to go?" He shouts over the noise of the band currently playing.

"Yeah," Bobby shouts back and, as they get up, Bobby tosses back the rest of his beer. Jack leans over one of his mate's shoulders and tells him that they're going out for some food and that he'll see them when he sees them. A salute with a bottle answers him and then they're outside and it's finally, blessedly, quiet.

"How you been, Jackie boy?" Bobby asks as they're walking down the street. Jack remembers a diner on the way to the motel. 

"Good. Touring, which is good. What'd you think of the show?" Jack sneaks a look at Bobby and the grin on that face makes him smile.

"You done good, fairy, you'll be big time in no time." Bobby's smirking now and Jack hits him on the arm. Bobby is quick to respond, swinging around and pinning Jack to the brick wall. He tries to squirm out of that grip but there's nowhere to go and Jack doesn't really want to anyway. "You ain't so big that I can't take you down." 

Bobby's right in his face and Jack wonders what would happen if he would lean forward and press their lips together. Bobby's such a homophobe, though, that'd he'd probably beat the shit out of Jack, even if he'd help patch him back up afterwards, so Jack doesn't do it. Instead, he stares at Bobby's lips. His eyes widen when they come closer and closer, until the breath drifts from between those lips and play across his own. 

The sensation goes straight to his cock. He can't help it, really, he's trapped between the devil and a hard place. He messes up the sayings and he doesn't care because it fits. Bobby is such an asshole that the devil wouldn't want to mess with him and the brick wall is hard on his back. 

"What're you doing, Bobby?" His voice shakes a bit. They're staring and the air feels thick.

Bobby lets go abruptly, leaving Jack to sag along the wall. It's a bit of a letdown, especially when their lips had been so close. Jack wishes he were the type to go balls out like Bobby lives his life. The only problem is that the fight's been beat out of him, then again, maybe he had less to begin with. He wants to kick himself but he also wants to kick Bobby. Fucking Bobby and those wrinkles between his eyes and that smirk and that unruly hair. Before Jack can follow through on the kicking, Bobby's walking.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Jack demands and Bobby shrugs in response. "Where's your car?" 

Bobby shrugs again and Jack stops following. It takes a bit but eventually Bobby realizes that Jack isn't following and he stops and turns. "You coming?"

Jack crosses his arms, shakes his head and then follows.

~~**~~

When Jack wakes, he's wrapped around Bobby - arms twisted tight, legs entwined and face pressed against Bobby's chest. Bobby's arm is flung casually over his back and he realizes that this is the first time in two months that he's slept through the night without waking in a cold sweat or shrieking. The rest of the Spares don't like sharing a room with him so Jack gets his own room and wakes, cold and alone, when they're on the road.

Jack stays still and just absorbs the moment. Bobby's always smelled unique – stale cigarettes, a bit of sweat and Old Spice – for as long as Jack's known him. It's a smell that's guarunteed to make him feel safe. Then there's the small brushes against his back, little half circles or ovals or something as Bobby's hand moves in his sleep. Add in the small _wuffles_ that Bobby makes as he snores and Jack doesn't think that this moment could get much better.

Bobby's not one of snuggling when they're sleeping together. He's one for a quick cuff followed with a gruff "go to sleep, kid" so Jack's learned, through the years, to take these rare moments when they happen. They're fleeting, just like now, with the growl in the back of Bobby's throat that signals his waking. In the past, Jack would move away at that noise but, this time, he stays where he is and he can hear the change of Bobby's heartbeat under his ear while the rise and fall of the smooth skin against his cheek changes. 

"Morning," is said gruffly, sleep not cleared out of his throat yet and Jack smiles against that skin.

"Morning," he says back. Bobby's not pushing him away and Jack's not going to move until Bobby does.

"What time you and your boys leaving today?" Bobby's hand is still drawing shapes on his back and Jack is still smiling.

"Taking a day here and then we're heading DC tomorrow, have a show in a few days. When're you going back up to New York?" 

"I can take a day, maybe we can get a game?" With Bobby, the solution to everything is hockey. That it's July doesn't really factor into Bobby's head. There's an ice rink somewhere that is sure to have a pick up game. If anyone can find it, Bobby can.

"Yeah, alright." 

"Get up, gotta piss." Bobby shifts out from under Jack and then goes to the bathroom. Jack simply stays where he is, breathing in Bobby from the sheets. The sounds of water pounding in the shower come through the thin walls and Jack groans. It's not like he doesn't have to piss too. 

"Fuck it," he mumbles when his bladder starts aching. Steam billows out of the bathroom when he opens the door and then there's blessed relief. A mischievious grin spreads and then he's flushing the toilet and running out of the room. The bellow that follows is quite rewarding. The wet naked body tackling him is more than he'd considered, espeically as he can feel Bobby's cock pressed against his arse where the water's pooled so that his underwear is virtually non-existent. 

He's sandwiched between the mattress and Bobby and his cock starts responding. He's flaming red as Bobby presses down on him, rubbing his dick deeper and Jack wants to moan but he bites his lip instead. 

"Try that again, you little shit," Bobby dares right next to his ear and the breath brushes and it's enough to set the moan free. "What was that?" 

"Get off, fucker, you're soaking me." Jack bucks up into Bobby, trying to dislodge him. When they bounce back onto the bed, Jack can feel how hard Bobby suddenly is. Wondering about it, Jack bucks again. This time, Bobby fists Jack's hair, forcing his head to the side and then there're teeth on his bared neck. He thrusts his ass into Bobby and Bobby responds by pushing down again. There're hands all over his back and ass and he moans again.

As quickly as it started, it stops just as abruptly. As Jack tries to think about what just happened, the bathroom door slams shut and the ac clicks on. Cold air blows across his ass, replacing the warmth of Bobby. He's pissed and there's finally a bit of fight in him so he pushes off the bed and goes to the bathroom door. When he finds it locked, he starts banging on it and yelling for Bobby so loud that a person in the next room over yells something. 

"Fuck off, asshole!" He shouts towards the wall, kicking it for good measure, before starting banging on the door again. 

"What the fuck was that, Bobby? What the fuck? Open the goddamned door or I'll beat it down, don't fucking think I won't. Open the fucking door!" He throws his shoulder against it and it doesn't budge. 

As he's ready to throw himself against the door again, it opens and Bobby's standing there in his clothes. "Want to get us thrown out of here? Fuck's sake, Jack." 

"What the hell was that?" Jack calms because Bobby looks messed up and that's good enough for him. He's tempted to laugh at the idea that having them both fucked up calms him down.

"The hell was what?" 

"You know what. What just happened in there," Jack gestures towards the bed as he speaks. 

"I'll pound the shit out of you next time you pull that shit, get me?" Bobby goes to shoulder around Jack but he isn't budging.

"Your dick was hard, Bobby." 

"Fuck you, just cause you're gay don't mean that I'm wanting your ass." 

"Your dick was hard, Bobby, I could feel it. You sucked on my neck." Jack's hand automatically goes up to touch where he thinks that Bobby sucked on him hard enough to mark. 

"I bit you, asshole. You wouldn't stop moving. Nothing else to it." Bobby goes to move around Jack again but this time, Jack puts his hand on Bobby's chest.

"So you weren't hard for me, weren't grinding your dick into my ass?" 

"Move out of my way or I'll move you." Bobby's sounding threatened and Jack grins. 

"Not liking me this close, old man? What'll you do if I do this?" Jack moves closer, bringing their dicks in line.

Bobby's quick to react, fisting his hand in the hair at the back of Jack's neck and pulling. "You want to play a game, little brother? I'll show you a fucking game." 

The teeth are back, ravaging Jack's bottom lip while Bobby's pushing him back towards the wall until he hits it hard enough to jar him. He has a second to wonder what their pissed off neighbor's thinking about that before that hand in his hair is pulling again and the other one is on his ass, gripping it hard enough to bruise. 

Bobby's hips won't stop moving and Jack can't help but to push back against them, damp underwear or no. Bobby's too dressed, his jeans are too rough against Jack's dick. As Bobby ravages his lips and skin, Jack's hands are slow and steady as they undo the belt and then the snap. He's careful of the zipper. Once it's open, he pulls Bobby's cock out and wraps his hand around it. It's thicker than his own and Jack drags his hand up, grip tight and slow, before pushing back down. 

"Yeah, like that, just like fucking that," Bobby breathes into his ear before biting down on the lobe. Jack wants Bobby's hands on his own dick but he doesn't quite know how to ask so he thrusts against his own grip, brushing the heads together. He's still stuck in his wet underwear and it's starting to chafe when he really wants Bobby instead of cold damp cotton. 

Bobby doesn't take the hint so Jack uses his free hand to shift his underwear off and then grabs Bobby's hand, putting it on his dick. Bobby's grip is a little too strong and Jack arches back, away from those teeth. "Not so rough, Bobby," he breathes out and Bobby's hand gentles a bit. 

It's still rough on his dick, the calluses brush across the vein on his underside. The thumb torments the head, rubbing across the slit. He's about to protest the sudden absence when Bobby's thumb is pushing into his open lips. They're staring at each other, a moment of stillness in the midst of the frantic. 

"Lick it," Bobby orders and Jack's tongue darts out, tasting himself. The stillness ends and, once more, it's frantic gasps and hands and groans. Bobby's cursing in his ear, muttering "fuck yeah" and "right there, Jesus you have pretty hands, Cracker Jack". 

Jack's not saying anything. He's too busy listening to Bobby's heavy breath in his ear and the sound of his name, that familiar nickname, being growled low and needy. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to hear it and not think of this moment, pressed up against a wall while Bobby takes and he gives. 

Bobby's coming and moaning, "so good, just so fucking good, you have magic hands". Jack absorbs this, too. He's afraid it won't happen again and if things between them go ass up, he's going to want to remember exactly how good it was right before. 

"Come, Jackie, come on, come for me," Bobby's demanding. When that rough hand gives one last tug, Jack's coming and he's staring at Bobby as he does it, forcing his eyes to stay open so that he can see Bobby and know that this is real. 

He wants to slide down the wall, limp and boneless. Before he can do it, Bobby's head is on his neck again and they're both panting in unison. The moment grows uncomfortable – the air's too cold and the silence too thick – and Jack really wants a shower, preferably a shower with Bobby. 

God must've heard him, he decides, because Bobby's tugging him into the bathroom and then the water is sluicing down them. It's warm and Bobby's hands are on him, brushing a finger over a bite, washing away the feel of Bobby on him. They're still not saying anything, not commenting on what just happened or talking about what happens next. 

They dress silently and then Bobby finally speaks, "Up for that game?" 

Jack nods and they head out to find a rink in the middle of the summer in Philadelphia.

~~**~~

It's another four months before he sees Bobby again. This time, it's as they're walking to say goodbye to their mother. Everything's back to the way it was before they'd fucked in the hotel. Jack accepts it, protests how he's not a fairy and that he likes girls. In his head, he laughs because he's calling Bobby a girl and Bobby doesn't even get the insult.

It's another week or so and he's lying in the snow, cold and screaming for Bobby. When Bobby comes rushing up, finally, Jack tries to smile but there's blood in his lungs and his mouth. Bobby's hand is on his face and it reminds him of the fist in his hair, cold air drifting across his skin with Bobby warming him. 

The smile finally comes and then there's peace and white.


End file.
